You're the Reason Why I Can Write a Different Story
by McEvoyer
Summary: Olicity. Set sometime in the near future. While dealing with a new foe in Starling City, Oliver lets the true extent of his feelings for Felicity slip out in the heat of the moment. But how will they both deal with his confession? Especially when they both find themselves facing danger?


**Hey there! This one became a beast - I don't even know what happened! It started off as one thing, turned into something else, and then ended up being so far off where I thought it was going to be by the time I finished with it. _Anyway_, it's here now! I hope you guys like what you read :)**

**Alas, I do not own Arrow.**

* * *

Life was funny.

One day you're just going about your business and everything is the way it's supposed to be, and the next…it's just not.

A sequence of events, an action, or even a word can have the greatest of impacts on the littlest of things and all of a sudden, your whole world is flipped upside-down, turned on its axis, and off-kilter.

Nothing stays the same forever.

Oliver Queen knew that truth all too well.

In a weird sort of way, being of the knowledge that everything changes is possibly the only constant there is in life and though for some it would be an unwelcome constant, for Oliver it was the only thing he could cling to when he was stranded on the island.

For him, change symbolised hope. A change could have been in the form of a way off the island, an unlikely alliance, or just finding a new way to stay alive. Either way he yearned for a difference in the days and nights that passed him by there, praying that a change was going to come, that luck would be on his side, that the powers that be would give him a sign or something that would tell him that everything was going to be okay. That he was going to survive.

Yes, change was scary and frightening and every other adjective that falls into that category, but Oliver was never one to stare it in the face with apprehension.

* * *

The sound of gunfire echoed off the walls; the cacophony so great that every other sense was intensified. Sparks from where the bullets ricocheted off idle objects illuminated the space like an ominous firework display, splaying out in all different directions in spectacular fashion. Oliver crouched behind a large metal container, spurting out every time there seemed to be the tiniest break in the onslaught and shooting three arrows in their direction, not entirely sure if he was ever hitting the target. But he was nothing if not persistent, and he had learned a long time ago that patience and persistence paid off in the long run. There was only three, maybe four, of them. He could easily take them out, his confidence soaring for no other reason than he had been in tighter spots before. So he kept the routine up, satisfied when he heard an irked grunt and the sound of a firearm colliding with the solid floor when he let one fly.

One down.

Digg was alongside him, offering his service with his own firepower whenever he got the chance but by the sheer steady stream of bullets rushing in their direction, he wasn't as successful.

Whoever these guys were, they were good. Experienced, trained.

Oliver flexed his hand on his bow, feeling the instrument rough against his skin, and tried to centre himself, blocking out everything except the feel of it and the slight pulse of wind that came with motion of his arms as he sent one surging at them.

Missed again.

How many bullets could they possibly have on them?

Sara should have been around to help. They needed her. But since she and Oliver had broken up, she had been out of town frequently visiting her mom and only showed up whenever she randomly felt like it.

And Roy? Roy was Roy. Smart kid, very strong, but still so unpredictable. Truth be told, Oliver had told him to hang back, to go out with Thea and spend some time together because they hadn't had any time to breathe over the past month, but now he was beginning to think that the boy would have been beneficial right about then.

What's that thing about hindsight?

His body resting heavily against the container, he met Digg's eyes, uncertainty flashing between them. His lungs burned, the air thick with intensity and dust. It was like they were being condensed, pressed down by the pressure in the moment. His heart raced with all of the options he had.

Just when he had made the decision to throw caution to the wind and put himself in the line of danger in the hope that their aim wasn't as sharp and that his was on point, the comm crackled in his ear making his heart stop momentarily.

"Oliver? Oliver, are you okay?" Her voice was drenched in concern, the fluffy lilt verging on hysterical.

Without even noticing it, the tension eased in his shoulders just as he heard her. He made sure he was secure before he replied, not wanting to worry her any more than she already was. "Yeah, yeah. I'm okay, Felicity."

He loved the way her name sounded off his tongue; natural, like he was always meant to say it.

"Oh thank God," she breathed, and he imagined her closing her eyes in her relief. She had a tendency to do that. "I hadn't heard from either of you in a while and I didn't want to just randomly come on in your ear and ruin any kind of stealth operation you guys had going on. That's if stealth is what you were going for – I mean, you're pretty sneaky when you want to be so I assume that you use the surprise attack fairly often-"

A round of gunshots cascaded around them, bringing him back to reality and the pretty dire circumstances they found themselves in. Digg winced, his muscles tense.

Felicity's squeal rang in his ear and Oliver was quick to react. "Felicity, can you hack into the mainframe?"

"Did you seriously just ask me that?" She asked breathily, the tapping of keys rapid.

"Okay, I need you to turn off the lights!"

"What?" The patter ceased.

He closed his eyes as if the simple gesture could somehow teleport his thoughts to her. "Just do it. I need to disorientate them."

Another bout of bullets whizzed past him, barely skimming his shoulder as they pounded into the wall behind him.

The two men left standing cackled, as if it was all one big game. The taunts came thick and fast, punctuated by gunfire.

Oliver swallowed hard. "Felicity?"

"On it," she said evenly.

Straight away the power cut out and Oliver reached out, grabbing Digg by the arm; a silent gesture that told him to stay at his back. With that, they thrust themselves into the darkness and Oliver took advantage of the dazed states, firing arrow after arrow into the void until they were practically on top of them. He must have been successful because when he came across a shadowy figure it was cowed by his knees. A quick one-two kick combo sent he figure further into the dark and Digg snatched onto Oliver's shoulder, pushing the man forward and out of the room they had been marooned in.

Once out of the danger zone, they began to jog, still not quite sure where they were heading. Oliver's time on the island had trained him to move efficiently under the cover of night, so he guided the other man through the maze, trusting Felicity to offer directions to the exit. It took a few minutes but eventually they were met with the crisp, damp Starling City air. Hazy rain swirled around them, clinging to their skin and soaking them through.

He leaned over, his hands resting on his knees, letting the air traverse in and out of his lungs just for a moment. His breaths were long, the coolness of the air prickling. They might have taken the henchmen out for now but knowing that there was still someone else out there, someone calling the shots, someone far more dangerous lurking about did little to ease his mind.

It had been a similar dance for the past week. Felicity would get a lock on the elusive target, the Arrow and Digg would go to deal with it only to be faced with his employees and a nasty duel filled with bullets and arrowheads ensued. And so the dance went; day after day, henchmen after henchmen.

He had to slip up soon. He'd leave a trail, some clue – anything that his Girl Wednesday could grab a hold of.

Sure they had faced some unconceivable evil before, some utterly sinister in their motives, but something about this particular guy unsettled Oliver. For one, they didn't know what he looked like and they knew nothing of his agenda other than he thrived on breaking into people's homes and killing whoever happened to be in the house at the time – children included. He showed zero signs of remorse and zero sign of backing off.

He was a sick, twisted individual and Oliver was sure he wouldn't really relax until the mastermind behind the whole bloody movement had been caught.

"We're out, Felicity. We're okay." It was a routine of theirs; as soon as one or the other was in safety, they'd let them know that they were safe and that they were alright. He'd be lying if he said it didn't bother him at first, but now it was second nature to him.

"Oh, okay, good. I can breathe again. Not that I wasn't breathing before but…you know what I mean." He let out a breathy laugh, allowing himself a small smile. "Coming home?"

_Home_. The foundry. Not quite sure when she started calling it that, Oliver continued the trend, casually sliding it into conversations so that it would stick. He liked the idea of Team Arrow – or whatever Felicity wanted to call them – being a family. It felt good; it felt right.

"Yeah," he nodded. "We're coming home."

* * *

He wasn't sure when he started to look at Felicity differently than just a friend.

Truth be told, there was always something special about her that drew him to her; an endearing, quiet sense of self that seemed to shine through every little gesture she made. She was the personification of light. And he didn't have to prove himself to her; he didn't have to be anyone different than just plain, old Oliver. His whole life had been defined by labels – Oliver Queen, heir to Queen fortune; Oliver Queen, playboy; Oliver Queen, irresponsible billionaire; Oliver Queen, Ivy League dropout; Oliver Queen, CEO; Oliver Queen, island survivor; but, to Felicity, those labels meant nothing. She didn't know him before the island – she knew _of _him, well, because he _was _Oliver Queen – and that knowledge alone made him feel like he could just be whoever he wanted to be, whoever he wished he could be, whoever he could be, because he didn't have to be anyone else.

For him to find someone who knew everything about who he used to be, who knew snippets and snapshots of his horrid circumstances over a five-year period, who was around him at his lowest points and darkest of days, who willingly helped him on a crusade so vast and precarious, and yet still accepted him, flaws and scars and imperfections and all, was…amazing. Truly.

Maybe he was always in love with Felicity Smoak.

Maybe it was always meant to happen.

Maybe they were meant to be.

But it didn't matter _when _he realized it; what only mattered was that he did.

He had never told her, had never breached the friendship boundary they had erected early on in their relationship and he probably never could.

_Because of the life that I lead, I just think it's better to not be with someone that I could really care about. _

How many times had he replayed that moment in his head?

Too many times.

Despite how much it hurt to keep her at arm's length emotionally, Oliver couldn't risk it – both for her and himself.

He was afraid.

There was nothing else to say, nothing else to add.

He couldn't open himself up like that, couldn't open his heart up like that, because of the uncertainty of the life he chose. Before her, he just went about his business, giving little thought to how reckless he was or how many life-or-death situations he found himself in; now, with her, he had something to lose, whether they were _together _or just friends.

The risk was just too great.

And as he sailed through the Starling city traffic, the passing blur of lights and colour disorientating as they merged with the cloud-tunnelled sky, the tires of his motorcycle skidding along the slick surface, he couldn't keep his mind of his blonde IT girl waiting for him at the foundry – at _home. _

He just hoped they could put an end to whoever was terrorizing his city so that at least one more hardened criminal would be safely out of their way.

* * *

"You could have been killed!"

As usual, Oliver beat Digg back to the Foundry and as he descended the metal steps, he heard the blonde's voice drive through the air from her seat by the computers. He instantly stiffened, silently scolding himself for not expecting her to be angry at him.

Moving over to place his bow back in its holding, he held her stare, letting out nothing but a sigh.

"What were you thinking?" She rose to her feet, arms barred across her chest like a barrier.

Suddenly his jacket was too tight around his torso and as he unzipped it just enough so that he felt like he could breathe again, he hopped up onto the table, rooting himself to it with a firm hand. The adrenaline crash was always the worst part about the end of mission. Felicity waited for his response, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Her initial relief at him being okay had clearly been superseded by sheer disbelief at his behaviour, the concern glinting in her blue depths.

"I needed a way out," he said eventually. "It was only thing I could think of."

Felicity took one long, purposeful step toward him, her head jutting forward in defiance. "You do realize that when you turn off the lights you're in complete darkness, right? I mean, you've had some stupid ideas before and I've gone along with them because, well, it's pretty much my job to keep you alive and let's be honest if I'm not helping you, you're pretty much screwed – _anyway_, telling me to turn off the lights while there are men shooting bullets in your direction was a really risky move, Oliver." She softened her expression as she took a final step toward him, her thigh brushing against his knee. "You could have been shot…_repeatedly. _You could have…"

_Died. _

She didn't say it but the word lingered between them, echoing around the cave like an ominous whisper.

"I know," he murmured. "But…" He blew out a breath, gripping the edge of the table, "I was at a loss. I had only taken out one guy and Digg wasn't having any better luck. If I didn't do something soon, they definitely would have killed us. I just acted."

He surprised himself at how unsteady he sounded, like the voice belonged to someone else and coming from somewhere else.

She pushed up her glasses, licking her lips. "It was still stupid," she retorted but with far less venom this time.

Swallowing thickly, he reached out and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder to assure her that he was okay, that he was there. He began to rub soothing circles over her collarbone with his thumb. "Hey," he whispered, catching her attention. Her eyes searched his. "I'm here. I'm an idiot, but I'm here. I'm alright."

The words held so much weight that the room seemed to go still. It was as though all of the air had been sucked up into a vacuum; the whirring of the computers even seeming to quell into a distant hum, absorbing the change in mood.

"But one day you might not be."

He wasn't supposed to hear that; at least, he thought he wasn't. It was so low and so cracked that he was almost sure he imagined it were it not for the hitch of her breath and the step backward out of his hold. His hand stayed grasping the air for a second longer before he dropped it back to the table with a soft thud.

It wasn't so much that she had verbalized his fears, it was the amount of fear swirling in her orbs that startled him the most. And without really realizing it, his felt his heart tug and all he wanted to do was sweep her up into his arms and promise her that'd he always be there, that he loved her and that, no matter what, she was the best part of him.

But he still couldn't.

Just as he drummed up enough courage to say something to quieten her doubts, Digg came trundling down the stairs, the harsh noises filling the once silent room. The man had impeccable timing.

Oliver cleared his throat and heaved off the slab to his feet, ready to greet the man.

The trio went about their business for the rest of the night with Felicity and Oliver skirting around their little conversation with enough subtlety that Digg didn't really even notice the weird tension between them.

Or if he did notice, he didn't feel right in voicing it.

And Oliver couldn't have been more grateful.

* * *

They got the breakthrough they needed the following night.

Felicity had left the office early to get a head start on running scans and checking for alerts on the mysterious figure, so when Oliver finally made it back to the foundry after a particularly long day at QC – Isabel could be so infuriating when she wanted to be – the blonde had good news for him.

She rushed over as soon as she caught a glimpse of him, her ponytail bobbing with her bouncy movements. Despite himself, he cracked a smile, unable to contain the buoyancy he felt whenever around her which tended to only increase as the days went on.

"I have news," she declared with a sincere smile.

Oliver loosed the tie around his neck. "Shoot."

"Okay so it turns out that your little light stunt last night might have actually helped us catch this guy." There was a slight undercurrent of annoyance in her tone that made it clear to him that he still wasn't forgiven just yet.

He cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"

Digg pushed himself up off one of the chairs and ambled over to them, a tablet tucked under his arm. "SCPD found two bodies this morning in the warehouse. Looks like they got a little too trigger happy when we got out of there and both ended up paying for it."

He winced at the information, ripping the tie off and chucking down onto the table where it hung limply off like it was contemplating diving onto the floor. Though she probably did it without thinking, Felicity fixed the item so that it was neatly folded and safely away from the edge. Was it weird to have a rush of affection over something so trivial as that?

"And how exactly does this help us?"

Felicity plopped down onto her chair and swivelled around to the computers, her fingers dancing along the keys. "It means we finally have names to work with. Up until now we've had nothing to go on this guy other than the fact that he has an army of followers – and seriously how does one man have so many people working for him? I mean, they must have good perks. Like, good dental because there's no way he has that much power. It's like he's a puppetmaster or something – and FYI, puppets creep me out so we have to take this guy down." Diggle huffed a laugh, joining them both by the screen. Oliver leaned down, hovering just over Felicity's head, noting that her hair smelled like strawberries and cream. "So this guy," she said, pointing to a picture of a middle-aged man with a greying beard on the left of the screen, "is Xander Cartwright. 48 years old, bank teller, ex-wife, two kids. And this guy…" she switched to the other man on the right, "is Leon Blake. He's 25, unemployed, single, no kids."

"Any form of connection between the two?" Digg inquired, scrutinizing their faces.

"Not that I can see," Felicity commented, punching the keys again. "They were both from different parts of the city, both different ages, leading completely different lives." Her eyebrows knitted together. "Nothing here suggests how they would cross paths."

"Then how does this information help us?" Oliver asked, genuinely curious. This was supposed to be good news after all. But then again, any lead would be better than nothing.

"Because I've been thinking." He smirked and she swatted his chest with the back of her hand. "Don't start," she warned teasingly. "I was thinking about how we've been looking at this: one man, and a group of followers. We assumed that all of them involved had worked together at some point or had attended the same school or drank at the same bar – you know, the usual, but the evidence here contradicts that. What if we've been looking at it the wrong way? Think about it – one man, a bunch of loyal followers." Her hands finally came to standstill in front of her chest and she looked at each man individually before settling her determined gaze on Oliver. "I think we're looking at some kind of religious cult thing – which, by the way, really sends out a bad message."

Oliver mulled over her theory for a minute, letting it sink into his brain. It made sense. A religious sect was made up of different people of ages and backgrounds and was led by one figure. Yes it was a long shot but it was so much more information than they had a day ago and it felt plausible. It felt like they were finally onto something. The relief that covered the three of them was palpable.

They had a place to start.

"Okay," Oliver stated, his eyes appraising her proudly, "let's think of them like a religious group. Where would they meet?"

Diggle stood up straight, his shoulders back. "At a church. Probably an abandoned one considering what they're doing wouldn't exactly be looked on with approval by other groups around the city."

"Felicity?"

"On it." She typed away for a minute, a bunch of images and scripts zooming around the screen. "Okay, there's four buildings that were once churches but have now been left to ruin because of the damage acquired after the Glades fell."

"Can you cross reference them with where the murders have taken place?"

Felicity shot him a pointed look and reflexively he held up his hands in apology. He chose to ignore the grin Digg sent his way.

With a ping, the answer popped up on screen, shining at them invitingly. "There's a Methodist Church at the corner of 8th and Elm," Felicity read.

"Okay," Oliver stated in a low voice as if he was already on a mission.

"Hold up," Digg spoke up with a raised hand, "all this is speculation. There's nothing in the evidence to even remotely suggest any religious involvement."

The blonde's head shot up, her eyes widening as she furiously plundered the buttons. "Wait. I thought I saw…" she trailed off as she weaved her way through cyberspace. Oliver, intrigued, craned his neck around her frame, catching glimpses of her work, silently in awe of her computer know-how. "Yeah, look at this." She pulled up a police report of the first murder, moving the cursor across the bottom section, highlighting a piece of text. "According to this there was something odd about the pattern of bullet wounds. Like they were trying to send a message through their rather gory choice of murder."

"Does a report come with a picture?" Oliver asked, thoroughly interested, not even registering the fact that his hand had moved to take residence on Felicity's shoulder.

A double-click later and an image appeared on the screen. Digg narrowed his eyes, taking in every detail. "It looks like…is that a cross?"

"They basically shot a cross into him," Felicity piped-up in disgust. "I mean, it's not perfect but it's too precise for it to be a coincidence."

Oliver ran an exasperated hand over his face, suddenly tired of, well, everything. "What about the other members of the family? Do they have same the same pattern?"

Felicity shook her head. "Their wounds just look random."

"Okay. What about the other murders?"

It took several minutes but after close examination of all nine of the crime scenes, five victims had had the same cross pattern embedded into them.

"It still a long-shot," Digg reasoned when Oliver took his bow in his hand, lifting it up and down, getting the feel of it. "The police didn't even follow up on this. We could be reading too much into it; adding two and two together and coming up with five."

"They were pretty sporadic and out of the fourteen victims, only five seemed to have these particular wounds. Maybe Digg's right."

His arm hung limply at his side letting the bow brush the end of his calf as he pursed his lips in thought. "No, Felicity your theory has basis. This is the closest we've come to this guy yet and we have enough evidence to check up on it. The police may have thought it was a coincidence but the Arrow prides himself in following leads." His eyes fell onto the blonde and the little smile that occupied her face. His gaze turned questioning, his lips twitching involuntary. Subsequently, her smile only widened. Ignoring the way his heart fluttered was extremely difficult. "What are you smiling at?"

"You referred to yourself as the Arrow," she told him simply as if the most obvious thing in the world. "Plus, I love it when you go all 'My name is Oliver Queen and I'm on a mission to save my city'. It's cute – no, not _cute_, cute just…you look like a determined hero, that's all."

How was it possible that she could have that effect on him? It was like a single word from her could quiet the storm raging within him. And it was not lost on him how much he craved to hear her reassurances and remarks. She was like his lifeline, keeping him safe and grounded while the rest of the world zipped past at blistering pace. She was his home, she was his refuge.

"I'll go set up everything in the van," Digg professed, grabbing his gun from the table and clipping it into his belt, before making a move towards the stairs.

"And I'm going to get ready, too."

Oliver's face dropped. She just had to say something like that, didn't she? "What do you mean?" The grip on his bow became lethal.

"I'm going with you," she asserted, keeping her back to him as she messed about with something on her tablet.

"No you're not," he ground out, all of his muscles tensing.

Her chair swivelled around dangerously. "Yes I am."

"Felicity-"

"I'm going to stay in the van, I promise," she pacified.

He placed his bow on the table with excruciating delicacy as his annoyance flared through him. "It doesn't matter. You're not coming."

"Oliver, in case you haven't noticed, I'm a grown woman who can make her own decisions. I get that you want to be all protective and generally I find that endearing but you can't just tell me what I can and can't do."

"I can when it comes to your safety!" He spat out, his jaw so tight that his teeth ached under the pressure.

A spark of chagrin swept over her face and she hopped to her feet. "I'll be in the van! Perfectly safe!" She pulled back when her voice got so loud that even the echo was hard on the ears. "Look, you know I can't help you from here. I can't be your eyes in there; the only thing I can do is listen in and pray neither of you get hurt and I _hate _being helpless. You know that. Besides, the whole reason we got the van equipped with our system was that I could do recon from wherever we are. If I'm in there, I can keep an eye on who goes in and out and run checks on them. Facial and voice recognitions – stuff like that. Essentially, you need me there." He saw her reasoning, he did, but it was too great of a risk. "And I've done this before, remember?" she threw in as if reading his thoughts. "And those missions were way more dangerous."

Tapping his fingers with his thumb, a nervy tick he had acquired at childhood, he swallowed hard. "That was different. You were always with one of us. You'd be alone on this one and I'm not letting that happen."

"You need me there, Oliver!" Cue the appearance of her Loud Voice. He anticipated it, and yet, it still struck him how powerful it was. Felicity Smoak always managed to surprise him – and he loved her for it. In fairness, he loved everything about her.

"Felicity, you're not going. It's too dangerous."

"Oh and the time I got a bomb collar wrapped around my neck wasn't? Or how about when I went undercover in mob casino, or when I was dangled in front of the Doll Maker like a sparkly gift, or my personal favourite, when I got shot facing Tockman? We're always in danger! This is no different. You can't just wrap me up in bubble wrap and keep me down here, especially when you know I'm needed there."

He dragged his hands through his tight hair in frustration at her persistence. "This guy is different!" he countered. "He doesn't bide time – he goes into people's homes and shoots them and their kids without a single shred of humanity. He's reckless and ruthless and if he finds you, he will not think twice about putting several bullets in you!"

Felicity's eyes shone with unshed tears, taken aback by the ferocity in his words. She closed the distance between them, her face strikingly close to his so that he could feel her breath. Her bright depths searched his. "I need to be there – you need me there. Remember if you're not going, I'm not going? Well if you're going, I'm going. I'm not going to let you go out there blind. I can control the system, run scans on anyone I see going in or out so that we can catch all of these guys. You _know _I can't do that here." A shaky hand rose up to lie on his arm; a plead for him to look at her. "Please Oliver. I can't just sit here and worry that something might happen…I just can't."

Oliver scrunched his forehead, his heart quickening in his chest. He couldn't lose her, couldn't risk losing her. If they found the van, if they found her, she'd be gone. Sure both he and Diggle would keep close tabs on her while they were in the building but all he wanted to do was keep her away from it all, so that he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was safe no matter what happened. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if more harm came to her.

He just…he just _couldn't_ lose her.

"Felicity," he whispered, at a loss, "I can't let you come."

Her hand shot off his arm as though she had been burned. "I can't believe you're being so stubborn! You know, you're acting ridiculous! They'll never find me – I'll be in a van for God's sake!" Oh she was mad now. "I mean, I couldn't be any safer than if I was here! I want a real reason, Oliver," she goaded petulantly. "Give me a real reason!"

Something in him snapped.

"Because I love you, Felicity! That's why."

The admission, the feelings he had bottled up for so long, tumbled out of his mouth before his brain had the chance to catch up. There it was in simple words, out in the open, never to be taken back. That was the thing about love: once proclaimed it can have the most profound repercussions – both good and bad. And the certainty with which he delivered it startled even him.

There was no mistaking it now, no second-guessing. He was in love with Felicity Smoak.

And she knew it.

His whole body became slack, the outward confession surprising them both. Eyes wide and mouth open, he grasped for anything to reel it back in and keep it locked inside of him like the secret it was, but nothing came to him. Instead, he found himself staring back at her, petrified. In a word, he was numb.

On the other hand, Felicity looked hyper aware of everything. Her mouth hung open as if constantly on the cusp of saying something but never quite managing to make a sound. Her whole body was still, like she was a statue, eyes stormy with every emotion under the sun. A few wily tears made tracks down her face but she made no effort to remove them, but let them continue their path until they plummeted off her chin.

Oliver held his breath.

Eventually, she shook her head, coming back to reality. "I'm still going," she breathed, the words curling through the air and hitting him plainly in the chest like a swift kick. She strode away from him with her eyes downcast, her arms doing all the talking.

"_Felicity_…" Her name fell from his lips without a second thought, a natural reflex now.

But she didn't stop.

She left the foundry buzzing with unresolved tension but more significantly, she left both Oliver and his heart in an extremely fragile place.

* * *

He chose to ride the motorcycle.

Sitting in the van with Felicity after their _discussion_ wouldn't have been good for either of them. She needed space. The flare in her eyes told him at least that.

That didn't mean he needed space. Actually, it was more the opposite. He wanted to be around her, to make sure that they were okay. They _had _to be okay. It was one thing worrying about her safety and losing her to the hands of some tremendous foe, but losing her because of something he said – something he felt – almost made him feel worse.

Nothing in his body seemed to function properly as he rode; like his brain was in complete disconnect with the rest of him. He was too hot, the leather sticking to his skin, but he was shaking. His grip loosened and tightened, never really sure of what to do, yet keeping up the rhythm of the uncertainty. Every now and again he had to close his eyes just for the briefest second so they'd focus on the path ahead instead of glazing over as his thoughts drifted yet again to her and what she was thinking of and how she was feeling.

And his heart seemingly forgot how to beat properly. It thrummed out of time, crying out for the adrenaline to come to halt so that it could resume as normal. He let out a dark chuckle at the thought of his body calming down anytime soon; if anything, it was only going to get worse.

But he had a mission, and all of his attention had to transfer onto that otherwise he wouldn't make it out alive to ever find out what happened next.

So with a final grunt and shake of the head he revved up and tore on down the street, renewed purpose blazing from his every pore.

* * *

The Methodist church had been irrevocably damaged after the Undertaking.

What was once a rather large structure, decorated with tall stained glass windows and intricate architectural designs had been demoted to a hollow shell of a building whose life had been sufficiently sucked out, leaving nothing but the remnants of a time long gone whispering in the cool breeze. Its lack of light contrasted sharply with the intense colours emanating from the line of stores across the street.

It was simply a desolate piece of land that had been left to suffer alone amidst a world of change and renovation.

Diggle parked the van toward the end of the street; far enough so that it wouldn't look suspicious but close too so that Felicity had a view of the two entrances.

Her clear yet slightly reticent voice comforted Oliver as he slunk around the back entrance, her ramblings about thermal images keeping his mind on point. Digg took the front, his hand hovering over his gun as he climbed through the battered doorway and into the unknown.

He had known it'd be dark, but the blackness that enshrouded him was crippling. Oliver was traipsing into an abyss of dread with nothing but his wit and his Girl Wednesday to assist him. He took shallow breaths, every step purposeful and careful but the worn floor groaned under his every touch as if willing for him to be caught.

That's if there was even anyone there. It was hard to imagine any kind of clandestine group meeting in an old, abandoned church that had no electricity and smelled like a sickening combination of alcohol and waste.

His hands outstretched to feel his way around, he tried to overlook the bout of fear that gripped him. For what seemed like no reason at all the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his nerve endings electrified. Yet not entirely sure what it was, he kept moving forward, noticing that there appeared to literally nothing in the room he was in – wherever that was.

"Digg?" he mumbled.

The comm crackled. "Nothing on my end," he replied in the same hushed tone. "I think this place is exactly what we thought it would be: abandoned. We did say it was a long shot."

Suddenly, Oliver heard a crash on the other end and a string of curses to follow. "Digg?" he said with a raised voice. He stilled his movements as he waited for an answer but left his hand circling the area in front of him. They brushed against something solid.

A door.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just tripped over…something."

He breathed a sigh of relief, quelling the uneasy feelings rising in the pit of his stomach for now. He really wasn't himself today.

With a few failed attempts, he managed to wrangle the door open, the noise deafening in the eerie quiet. "Felicity?" He hated how his voice shook when he said her name.

"Yes?" Hers was too formal, too detached.

"Anything going on out there?" He took a step forward, his eyes somewhat starting to adjust to the lack of light.

She didn't answer straight away. "Not that I can see. But if someone had invested in the new thermal imaging cameras like I asked them to, then I'd have a better idea." She paused then and Oliver sighed, a heavy weight resting in his chest. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…I'm pretty sure you guys are alone in there."

He nodded, sliding over her clipped response and finding rest in her apology. "I think you might be right." Another step, this one a little more fluid and daring. "I've just entered a new room, any idea where I am or what it was used for? It seems pretty big." He kept on, his hands still roaming the dark expanse, his orbs trying to catch shapes and shadows but all that he could make out remained a mystery.

Felicity was busy on her keyboard, the sound sharp in his ear as though she was purposefully trying to disconcert him. "From the blueprints it looks like you've entered into the main auditorium. That's where they held all their meetings but I'm not sure how much of it remains so just, you know, stay alert."

A few minutes passed without communication and Oliver made it through the auditorium with relative ease, aside from one incident where he bumped into, what he assumed, was some kind of stage. Apart from a bruised knee, he was unscathed.

And then he didn't know where to go.

"Felicity? Is there a basement in this place?"

"Hold on." He rooted himself to the spot. "Yeah, there should be a door to the left of the stage which leads to some kind of hallway and the second door to the right brings you down. Why do churches feel the need to have basements anyway? From what I can see here there's plenty of storage space above ground so there'd be no need to have a creepy underground room. I mean, nothing good comes from having a basement – haven't they seen every horror movie ever made?"

Much to her dismay but his delight, Oliver chuckled, a rumbling sound that vibrated through him. "Felicity, we work in a basement. Our whole operation stems from a creepy room underneath a bar."

"Well…that's…it's different. Churches don't need them; heroes do."

He tensed his shoulders, his smile fading, awe shifting in its place.

She still saw him as a hero.

"I'm sorry."

"What?" Her breath hitched.

"I'm sorry for…putting you in a difficult position." Oliver closed his eyes, picturing her face back in the harsh shadows of the foundry. "I'm not going to apologise for what I said, and I never will. I meant it." He sighed. "I'm not happy with the way it came out or with the circumstances surrounding it but, Felicity, just know that it came from my heart. I know that this makes things…awkward and I know that it will take some time until things go back to normal but you have to know how sorry I am for the timing and the way you found out."

The other end of the comm fell into a skin-grating silence.

He didn't want to push, and right now really wasn't the time to be pushing, but he just needed to hear that soft lilt that put him to ease the minute her sound hit his eardrum. He waited for a beat. "_Felicity_," he whispered in that tone he reserved only for her.

Standing alone in the room with nothing else to distract him, he counted his heartbeats; each thump a reminder that he was still here, that he was alive, that she was the reason for it all. When she did finally speak, he barely heard it. "You weren't just saying it? You meant it?"

He nodded even though she couldn't see him. "All of it."

"_Oliver_…"

"You don't have to say anything, Felicity. I just wanted you to know."

She inhaled hastily. "No, I –"

But he didn't get to hear the rest.

All he felt was a swift barrage of pain and then…

Nothing.

Nothing, except for the shrill cry of his name in his ear.

* * *

He'd been shot before.

Way too many times if you asked him.

It wasn't something he ever got used to, though. It's not as though the pain of having a bullet lodged inside of his body had ceased over time; it just meant that he knew how to deal with it better.

Yet, as a dazzling bright light hovered over his face, burning his pupils, the pain in his right shoulder was practically unbearable.

And his head _really _hurt.

With some effort he prized open one eye at a time, testing the strength of the light before he felt comfortable to unleash them fully.

Whatever his eyes alighted on was hazy and disjointed, like he was looking directly underwater. Bits and pieces of objects and people altered in the most confusing way.

Every noise or shuffle was a million miles away, meshing together to create a deluxe muffled edition.

One thing was for sure though: he was in a basement.

Streams of dust lingered in the air around him like it was afraid to fall to the earth, stuck in a perpetual state of being. A single, sadistic lightbulb hung from the ceiling on a chain, its focal point directly over his head, giving him enough light to see that he was tied to a steel fold-out chair. Dried blood smeared over his shoulder as if someone had tried to stop the bleeding, and his hood lay defeated in his lap.

The Arrow was Oliver Queen – and anyone who was there knew it.

It was sweltering; beads of sweat trickled down from his hairline, sledding through the curves and grooves of his face and dripping onto the concrete floor.

A noise – maybe a voice? – rang from somewhere near him. Or, at least he thought it was near him. The aching at the back of his head intensified. He struggled against his restraint, the chair shaking with his movement.

A blurred face swam into his view. "Now, now. That's not a good idea."

Intense concentration allowed him to make that much out. He narrowed his stare, making out the features of a man.

"You wouldn't want to aggravate your wounds, Mr Queen," the man continued. He spoke like he was singing, exhibiting a musical, exaggerative quality. "Oh, I do just love that, don't you? Oliver Queen is the vigilante. Who would have thought that? I must say it's a rather fascinating turn of events. I never would have guessed that the man so hell-bent on thwarting our mission would be none other than Starling City's prodigal son, CEO of Queen's Consolidation and everyday billionaire. Isn't life just funny?"

Oliver's head lolled to the side. "Who are you?" he forced out.

The face pushed into his personal space again. This time he could make out a pair of glasses, a standard nose and a tamed beard. "Allow me to introduce myself…" He stepped back, arms open. "My name is Arthur Torocco, leader of 'The Zealots' – or as you better know them, the group who have been working tirelessly to sanctify this fine city."

"Sanctify?" he scoffed, taking steady breaths. "You've murdered fourteen people."

"No, no. That's where you have us all wrong," he said, shaking his head vehemently. "We have been purifying our home. Ridding it of the evil that has taken root since your mother and Malcolm Merlyn decided to take God's plan into their own hands and ended up destroying everything we have ever known." Clasping his hands behind his back, Torocco paced back and forth like he was lecturer teaching a class full of students. Oliver, utilising everything he had ever learned about strength on the island, began to pull back to reality, noting that the man was extremely ordinary. He wasn't tall by any stretch of the imagination and dressed in a dress shirt and slacks as though a schoolteacher. He was just a regular guy; someone you'd pass in your daily life and not think twice about.

And that somehow made him more sinister.

"Did you know that looting has increased by 300% since the Glades fell? Violence is widespread, theft is at an all-time high, alcohol and drug abuse has hit staggering heights; and yet, no one is doing anything about it," he carried on, relaying the facts like a speech he had been preparing for weeks. "Well, we've decided to step up and take responsibility. We've decided to do something about it. It is God's will that we intervene. And you," he pointed menacingly at him, his teeth barred, "have been getting in the way. It's time that I put an end to it."

"You think you're doing some good? You've killed people!" Oliver spat, his whole body jerking forward.

"I like to think of it as purification. Those people were evil and destructive – I'm sure you've already done your research on them so you should know that. They were leeches, sucking all that was good out of this world and they had to be stopped."

"And murdering their children?! How is killing innocent lives purifying the city?!"

Torocco paused and cocked his head to the side in bemusement. "Once one is touched by the darkness one cannot be redeemed."

Unable to help himself at the utterly absurd reason, Oliver snickered incredulously. "Do you even hear yourself?" He struggled again, his legs groaning under the pressure he was putting on them. "You're insane. And this whole campaign is so completely wrong that you've blinded yourself to the truth."

"And what truth would that be, Mr Queen?"

"That you and your group are the evil ones. You think God takes favour on you? Well I can assure you, Mr Torocco, that you could not be more mistaken."

Arthur pursed his lips, giving a sad look. "I'm sorry you feel that way. It's obvious you're not a spiritual man. But you are an impressive one." He began moving away from him, stopping across the room. "You found us; that's more than the SCPD have been able to do. However, you aren't all that clever, are you? Only bringing one other person with you as back-up? That's a rookie mistake."

Suddenly the whole room was illuminated, the wave of new light striking. It was a pretty empty room; nothing but a few whiteboards and chairs occupying the space. Oh and a coffee maker. Even evil masterminds needed caffeine.

But then his gaze fell over to where Torocco stood with two other men, and to another figure shackled to a similar chair.

Diggle.

The two other men stood on either side of him, each with a gun aimed at his head. He looked to be unconscious.

His pulse racing, Oliver wrestled with his chair, hopping it off the ground in all of his frustration. "Let him go," he demanded, his voice loud. His shoulder cried with all the movement, begging for him to put a hold on everything. "It's me you want; I'm the one in the way, not him."

"Oh but he's been helping you and therefore, must also be put to rest." Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out their comms and presented them to him. "Someone else was also with you." The blood drained out of Oliver's face. _Oh God, no._ Not…not her too. He tried and failed to remain composed but the way his eyes filled at the mere words was astounding. _Please be alive_, he prayed. _Please! _"I guess they don't care too much about you though. Otherwise there'd be a squadron of cops here and you'd have been rescued by now. So much for allegiance, right? Should have picked your friends better."

She was still alive.

Still breathing.

Still living.

And in that moment, that was the only thing that gave him comfort.

She was safe.

She was okay.

Nothing else mattered.

"It's funny that it has to end this way, isn't it? I bet you thought your life would end in million other ways." Torocco pulled out a gun from his back pocket and pointed at him. Oliver went still. "You should know though that your death will play a huge role in bringing about sanctification. Eliminating the vigilante has been high on my list for a while now. Take rest in that knowledge." Three steps forward, the barrel of the gun perfectly in line with his heart. "Goodbye, Mr Queen."

Oliver closed his eyes and thought of Felicity. Her smile, her laugh, her babbling, the way her ponytail swung around frivolously when she moved, her animated hands when she told a story, her beauty, her perfection. Her everything.

It felt fitting that his last thoughts were crowded with her and for that moment, he was happy he had told her how he felt just so that she knew the extent of his care for her. She deserved that much.

_Goodbye, Felicity_, he summoned into the void, hoping it'd find her wherever she was.

And then everything went dark again.

Literally.

The lights shut off again and the three men all broke out into raucous bewilderment, their murderous intent stalled for the time being.

"What is going on?!" Arthur screamed from somewhere in the dark. And then all the men scrambled around in the blackness, cursing and yelling over one another.

Out of nowhere, Oliver felt someone behind him. Immediately tensing for fear of what was to happen, he shoved his good shoulder back into the intruder, feeling an exhale of pleasure of finally being able to _do_ something.

"Oliver!" the voice hissed as quietly as possible and he drew in a breath.

"Felicity?" he implored in disbelief.

"Yeah," she said, strained, "it's me. I'm trying to rescue you. Just hold still."

He internally scolded himself for that shoulder dig. He was positive it hit her square in the chest which was probably why she sounded like she couldn't breathe. "Are you okay?"

"Aside from having the wind knocked out of me by your very strong shoulder, I'm fine."

Well that was something at least.

"How?" he asked, feeling her cut away the ties that bound him.

There was a smile in her reply. "I thought I'd put your light trick to good use."

"But how –"

His arms were set free and he relished in the freedom of his limbs, feeling so much lighter.

"Night vision goggles," she supplied as she worked at the ties around his ankles. "I forgot we even had them."

Torocco and his men were still floundering, oblivious to the rescue party.

"You're remarkable," he muttered when his legs could sufficiently move of their own accord. He rose to his feet, reaching out to her, needing to feel her warmth, her presence, and find rest in that. Her hands came up to take his and she pumped them three times as if she needed the reassurance too.

"Thank you for remarking on it. Come on, let's get Digg."

He kept his hand latched to hers, following her very deliberate movements, stopping whenever she did and moving when he felt her tug at him.

And then the guns went off.

Torocco and his men, seemingly infuriated with the turn of events, decided to unleash an unwavering amount of firepower into the room, a last ditch attempt to finish what they started. But Felicity, the only one able to see, anticipated their every move, pinning Oliver to the ground at one point just as he felt the heat of bullet fire in his direction. Without giving him a moment to respond, her hold on him disappeared and he flailed about, searching for her, already feeling her absence. "Felicity!" he yelled over the clamour but to no reply.

And then the commotion ended just as quick as it had started.

Oliver jumped to his feet, on alert, every sense activated.

"Felicity?" he posed into the air, his voice cracking.

There was a shuffle and a warm hand on his chest. "I'm here, I'm here," she repeated shakily. He released a breath he didn't know he was holding and brought a hand up to cover hers. "They're all knocked out."

"They are?"

"I hit them. With a plank of wood. Well it just so happened to be a plank of wood, considering that was all I could find that would do the trick - it's not like I brought a plank with me, because that would be completely impractical not to mention really hindering."

Oliver nodded, laughing tenderly. "Come on, let's get Digg and get out of here before they wake up."

"Right. The police will be here soon. I called them before I came in here just in case my plan didn't go to, well, plan."

"Always one step ahead, aren't you?"

"Generally," she agreed.

Thanks to Felicity, they made it back to the foundry as a team without crossing hairs with the police. Truthfully, Oliver couldn't have been more grateful. Complicating his life with the criminal underworld was certainly not part of his agenda and he was glad not to have to come up with some ridiculous excuse as to why Oliver Queen had the vigilante's hood and was being held at gunpoint by some raging psychopaths.

* * *

Still unconscious when they made it back, they deftly manoeuvred Digg down the stairs to the lair and laid him on the medical bay so they could keep an eye on him until he awoke.

It wasn't until they had caught their breath that Felicity dove at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him tightly to her as though she couldn't bear to let go of him. It was such a swift movement that he barely had the chance to react but when he did, he felt complete. Relaxing into her embrace, Oliver brought a hand up to cup the back of her head, letting her warmth and light heal him. He buried his face in her hair, memorizing the smell and the way it tickled his face as he held her firmer.

She was the one to break away first, eyes shining with emotion.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" she sniffed, carding her fingers through the ends of his hair.

"Only some of the time," he teased, absentmindedly drawing patterns on her lower back. His reply invited a sad smile off her. "Thank you," he said.

A flicker of confusion crossed her features. "For what?"

"For saving my life. Not just today, but every day."

He made sure his eyes never left hers, the colours amplified under the lighting and more affectionate than he had ever seen before. He'd gladly spend an eternity exploring the fascinating facets of them.

"You don't have to thank me," she proclaimed in a soothing tone. "I'll always try to save you." Something about her was different; an assurance that consumed her whole being, bounding off her in waves. "But I _was _scared – just for the record," she added after a beat in her own, adorably quirky way.

Laughing through his nose, he squeezed her hip, revelling in how right everything felt. "So was I."

"Oliver, about earlier when we were talking over the comms…" She moved her hands from his neck and placed them delicately on his shoulders, her thumbs padding over his collarbone.

"Felicity, I told you; you don't have to say anything." Sensing his opportunity, he framed her face in his hands, the atmosphere between them thick with electricity. Her cheeks were hot under his touch, her tears on the brink of spilling over. "I just wanted you to know."

Nothing was said for a while; their quick breaths mingling with one another the only sounds to be heard. Maybe he should have pulled away, set the distance between them, put their barrier back up, because he knew that from now on, being around her was only going to be progressively difficult.

But how could he?

She was so beautiful. So full of light.

Just as he brushed over her cheekbone with his thumb, her hand shot up urgently to keep it in place. "_Oliver_," she breathed, "say it again."

He knit his eyebrows together. "What?"

"I just…I need to hear you say it. _Please_." A lone tear escaped, slipping onto her cheek and he batted it away immediately.

No more inhibitions.

No more holding back.

Now was the time to let his guard down and finally let someone in, whatever the outcome may be.

"Felicity," he murmured with reverence. "I love you."

Her whole body relaxed as though a large weight had been lifted off her, her breath coming out as a mighty whoosh, and it caught as the tears flowed freely. He did his best to swipe them away but they were plentiful. Going with his heart, he leaned in and began to kiss them away, each one like a silent vow to always protect her. Felicity's eyes fluttered shut, her hands running along his arms.

"I'm so in love with you," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Her chin quivering, she popped her eyes open, smiling through the tears. "I never thought I'd hear you say it to me. I…I love you too, Oliver," she said, her voice cracking toward the end. "I always have."

No words could describe what he was feeling in that moment.

Oliver just knew that whatever it was, it was so right, so perfect.

And he was so happy.

Happier than he ever thought he could be.

Without a second thought he slanted his lips over hers, his heart bursting at the feel of hers under his, moving in a rhythm neither of them set but automatically understood. It was slow and languid and full of love – everything that he could have ever hoped for.

When they parted, both in desperate need of air, he took in her open expression, the sheer elation breaking through her gaze, mimicking his own.

Never had he felt such contentment than in that moment, in that place that had become his home, with the woman he loved.

Villains would come and go, problems would fling themselves in their way, life wasn't going to be easy – he knew that, he understood that, he lived that – but when Felicity smiled at him, he didn't care.

It was a change – but the best kind of one; and he knew they could deal with it the way they always did: together.

* * *

Life was funny.

That's what Oliver Queen was thinking as he stood at the altar, twiddling with the cufflinks on his shirt with Digg standing proudly alongside of him.

Glimpses of the life he had lead up until that point dashed through his mind, each one more and more vivid as they went, and he found himself pinpointing the exact moment when his life took a turn he didn't anticipate.

He allowed himself a smile at the memory, basking in the pure joy he experienced when she looked into his eyes and returned his declaration of love.

"Hey man," Digg muttered, hand on his shoulder, "it's show time. You ready?"

Oliver peered at the man. "Do you really have to ask me that?"

The man chuckled in response.

Music filled the air, yanking him to the present, his eyes travelling down the aisle to meet the loving gaze of his bride-to-be. Felicity looked stunning and not for the first time, and definitely not for the last time, his heart skipped a beat at the sight.

Oliver's life had been defined by labels.

And he was certain that from this day onward, when he took Felicity Smoak as his wife, was going to the best label yet:

Oliver Queen, husband.

* * *

**Woah, that really was a beast! Haha it's probably not all that great but I really enjoyed writing them in this way and I hope you guys did too. Anywho, if you have time please drop me a review and let me know what you thought - it'd make my day! :) **


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